Edge
by Be Summer Rain
Summary: Everything they see is tainted.


_Edge_

It has always been Elliot and Olivia. Casey knows this; she even accepts it to a certain degree. She supposes, in retrospect, that she shouldn't have barged in on them so on her first day. She learned her lesson quickly: you do not interrupt them. They are a team, a partnership in almost every sense of the word. Their interrogations are seamless, mesmerizing to watch, and she'd hate to find herself on that side.

She has to confess that she'd had a bit of a crush on Elliot at first. But honestly, what woman wouldn't? She remembered him instantly from softball, but thought it best not to show it. She knows she said something inane about him being covered in her dust, but she doesn't like to dwell on all the dumb things that can come out of her mouth when she's not paying enough attention. Olivia had intimidated the hell out of her, though she tried her hardest not to let on. Good cop, bad cop; sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.

She never knew. That's what she kept telling herself, long after Olivia had left, long after she herself should have gone home. She never knew. She can hardly look at the bottles of alcohol lining the other side of the bar now; she can only picture them shattered. Broken pieces lying on the floor and Olivia's mother with a glass edge. She never knew. And she thinks that maybe that's why Olivia confided in her. Not Elliot. Her. Because there's still so much she doesn't know and wishes Olivia didn't either. She never knew. She never knew.

She'd been out for drinks with the rest before, of course. That wasn't anything new. But sitting here with just them is beginning to unnerve her a little bit – Casey, the toughass lawyer. Unnerved by sitting in a bar with two detectives who helped her win the case, then insisted on taking her out to celebrate. Thank goodness this was a different place, she muses; she feels less awkward when she doesn't know anybody. A little strange, maybe, but she'd always been this way. It's when you know people too well that you have to be careful, and she thinks maybe this is something Olivia's learned too.

Elliot has gone to order them some fries, and Olivia leans over, the devious dancing in her eyes. You see that guy in the back booth? she asks.

Casey nods.

What would you rate him? One to ten.

Casey looks at the detective in surprise. Rating men in bars was not an extra-curricular activity she'd have thought Olivia would be partial to. But then, the more you find out about someone, the more you realize you don't know. Olivia is an enigma, a question mark wrapped up in beauty, and only lately has she started to fray.

Eight and a half, Casey finally decides.

Olivia looks at her in disdain. Where are your standards, Casey? Seven, at the most.

Just because _you_ can afford to have standards, Casey begins to retort with a grin, but is cut off by a shove to the shoulder.

Whatever, Case.

She wonders when she lost the last syllable of her name, but decides she doesn't really mind. It's somewhat endearing. El, Liv, and Case. They sound like they could almost go together.

Hey, says Elliot, dropping into his seat with a basket of fries and a bottle of ketchup. Plastic, and Casey's glad.

Nine, she says, catching Olivia's eye and biting off a smile.

Olivia shakes her head. Nine and a half, she asserts. Casey chokes on the fry she'd just popped into her mouth.

What? asks Elliot, ketchup at the corner of his mouth. Did I miss something?

Nah, Olivia assures him, we're just speaking German. Casey chokes on a laugh this time as Elliot shrugs.

Here, take a napkin, says Olivia, covering her eyes in mock disgust as she hands one over. Can't you even eat properly?

I'm sure there are better ways to remove it, he says innocently.

Don't count on it, Stabler.

Who says I was talking to you? he asks, relishing the indignation in her eyes as he winks at Casey, who immediately loses all powers of speech. Casey doesn't miss the look in Olivia's eyes the next time she looks at her, but she isn't sure what it means. There are always the rumors, of course, but that doesn't mean Casey would believe them. She prefers to think highly of her colleagues. She has to wonder, though, why the expression on Olivia's face is unmistakably jealous, tempered with alcohol and a conscious attempt to hide. The idea is laughable, after all. Casey has never gotten the guy, not the ones she really wanted. There has always been an Olivia. And it's not that she necessarily wants him; she's long gotten over any childish crushes. She may wonder idly what his kiss would taste like, but that's far from climbing up on a table and crying, Take me, Elliot, take me now! She shakes her head briefly to clear it. Not the mental image she needs.

Olivia has ceased looking suspiciously at her and the conversation moves on. There are invisible threads, thin steel wires connecting the three of them. Tightropes, horror dancing on each, daring itself to fall. The web runs thicker between Elliot and Olivia; tightly wound and they're trapped. Casey follows their gaze out the nearest window, at the few people walking under streetlamps. They are always wondering. Everything they see is tainted, and as much as Casey has always wanted that closeness with someone, suddenly she understands: they are the broken ones, and their jagged edges would bring anyone else to bleed.

(the end)


End file.
